


Nothing More Than What It Is

by slpblue



Series: The AU™ [3]
Category: All Time Low (Band), Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Bandom
Genre: I hope, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, anyway Erian have sex, bruh this AU is whack I stg if we ever mcfreaking WRITE IT it will make more sense, that's p much it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:42:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22338001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slpblue/pseuds/slpblue
Summary: After months of knowing each other, and even longer of knowingofeach other, Eros finally invites Rian into his bed.  It's nothing more than that.  Nothing more.
Relationships: Rian Dawson/Eros, Rian Dawson/Original Male Character(s)
Series: The AU™ [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1385668
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Nothing More Than What It Is

**Author's Note:**

> Some quick context:
> 
> \- Rian is half mermaid, so don't freak out when I mention his gills.  
> \- Yes, Eros is _that_ Eros, the Greek god of love.  
> \- They have dinner at Chili's because that's Eros' favorite restaurant and practically the only place he goes when he eats out, not because either one of them is cheap. Don't judge their place of eating.
> 
> That's pretty much it. Enjoy!

Eros fiddles with his place setting and swallows. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous. He likes Rian, and he likes getting laid, so the two of them together shouldn’t...they shouldn’t be a big deal. His wings feel like they’re starting to cramp up he’s got them pressed so tightly against his back. He refrains from checking the time; this is why he doesn’t get places early, because now it feels like Rian is late when he _isn’t,_ Eros just needs to stop being a bitch and realize that Rian is a good guy and won’t stand him up, not like—

“Hey,” comes Rian’s voice.

Eros’ head snaps up, and he has to clear his throat when he watches Rian slide into the booth across from him. He looks—really fucking good. He’s got on a nice long-sleeved shirt that’s almost but not quite a sweater and his jeans...they are working wonders. Eros has to reboot his brain into working when Rian speaks.

“Hey,” Rian repeats, a little more awkwardly this time.

“Hey,” Eros replies, trying to refrain from punching himself in the face. _Play it cool_. He leans forward on his elbows, turning his head slightly to show off the line of his jaw and the slope of his nose. He smiles, toothy, and Rian’s eyes go to his mouth.

“I didn’t know you had dimples.”

Eros is so shocked he completely forgets about trying to make Rian want to fuck him or hiding the bad side of his face and sits back again. “I...oh.”

Rian slides the water glass on his side of the table closer, running a finger through the trail of condensation it leaves behind. “Sorry, yeah. I just never noticed before.” He’s frowning now, which. No, that’s not how this is supposed to go. But then he adds, softer, “You have a pretty smile.”

Eros still doesn’t quite know what to make of this situation. It’s not—this isn’t how it’s ever gone in the past with people he’s tried to get to sleep with him. He almost starts to wish he had had the strength to go into this sober. “Thank you,” he says, sincere, instead of something that sounds like he’s trying too hard. He can’t help from smiling again, small, real. At the returning grin Rian gives him Eros decides that he wants to smile at Rian all the time.

They’re already friends; their conversation is easy, and Rian is funny. All Eros has to do is expertly add another layer to it all, with precise movements and word choice, the way he meets Rian’s eyes looking up through his hair. He knows he’s played all his cards right (he’s the god of love and _sexual desire_ , for fuck’s sake), so it’s no surprise that as Eros is picking up the check (of course he’s not going to make Rian pay for Chili’s—the only person he’d make do that would be Jack) and bites his lip in Rian’s direction and asks “Come home with me?” that Rian agrees.

Eros rides in Rian’s car, leaning against the window and his feet up on the seat, tucked up and looking over at Rian. His eyes stay on the road, and Eros feels a twinge of annoyance. They always look at him. Rian is supposed to look at him. Halfway there, when Eros lets his legs down to point the direction they need to go, Rian’s hand shifts from its resting place on the center console so that the tips of his fingers brush Eros’ thigh. Eros stops. Decides that whatever he was saying isn’t that important anyway. He tries to move a little closer, but Rian pulls back his hand, puts it on the steering wheel. Eros tries not to pout. Well then. If this is how it’s going to be.

He leads Rian inside, throwing his keys in the little vase he keeps on the table by the door. He turns around, blowing the hair out of his eyes, ready to give Rian some sassy retort, but Rian speaks before he has a chance to.

“Is this...is this authentic?” His hand hovers uncertainly over the pottery work.

“I, uh, yeah. It’s about 3000 years old, I guess,” Eros says awkwardly. None of this is exactly working out like he had thought it was going to, but if Rian wants to talk ancient Greek pottery, so be it. “The Thespians made it for me.” Looking at it again like this, he’s reminded of how reverently he had first held it when his city had offered it up, the excited way they skittered around the next morning when they discovered it gone.

“For you?” Rian asks, his own keys in hand.

“Yeah.” Eros makes a floppy gesture towards the little table. “You can put your keys down. And your coat. But yeah. Uh, Thespiae was my patron city. Seriously, you can put your keys in it, it’s fine,” he adds, seeing the uncertain curl of Rian’s hand over the vase.

Rian slowly puts his car keys inside the pottery but leaves his coat on. “It’s beautiful.” But he looks at Eros as he says it, and the slide of his eyes over Eros’ body leaves his breath catching, leaves his thoughts trying to catch up to the real reason Rian in his home.

“Thank you,” Eros says weakly. He steps back, lifting an arm to invite Rian farther inside.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he turns on the TV for lack of a better idea. He doesn’t even know what channel is playing, is only focused on the way he’s caught Rian staring at him again.

“Sorry,” Rian laughs softly, shaking his head. “You're beautiful.”

“Oh,” Eros says dumbly, heart kicking in his chest. He toes off his shoes and sits down on the couch, folding his legs underneath him and crossing his arms—then uncrosses them when he realizes that it probably looks too defensive. He wants Rian to fuck him, not for them to stay up all night bickering. But he’s too damn stubborn for his own good, and refuses to initiate anything, so he just watches Rian with the most weighted gaze he can manage. Eros is good at this—he’s been alive since almost the creation, and he’d spent a good portion of the last thirty years learning how to make people want him. If he wants sex, he’s going to get sex.

Rian sits down next to Eros, movements slow and easy. He moves the way whiskey looks. Rian’s arm slides across Eros’ shoulders as he leans close, breath in his ear, and opens his mouth. Eros’ eyes close. “The Discovery channel?”

Eros’ eyes flick to the television, surprised and thrown off guard again. “I don’t—”

But Rian is laughing, and the easy bend of his smile has Eros’ mouth quirking as well. Suddenly, Rian’s thumb is brushing over Eros’ cheek, near his lips, near his scar. Eros freezes, but he doesn’t pull away from Rian’s touch. “There’s the dimple. Doesn’t come out often.” Rian’s voice is low, his eyes intent on his thumb where it rests on Eros’ skin. The god swallows thickly. He can’t think of anything to say; all the words in his head are running backwards, indecipherable.

Eros hadn’t thought it would be possible, but Rian’s voice grows ever softer. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, the words a gentle sigh against the side of Eros’ face.

Suddenly, English floods back into Eros’ throat, overwhelming, and he’s only able to choke out a “Yes, please” before he gets cut off again.

The first press of Rian’s lips to his own is soft, his hand on Eros’ cheek and splaying across his face, covering his burn. For once in his long life, Eros doesn’t mind being touched there. He feels hazier than he has in a long time, but he trusts Rian. He’s a good man.

So when Rian’s other hand slides back into his hair, fingers tugging, Eros sighs and lets his mouth fall open, biting Rian’s lip. Rian shifts, angling his body up and over Eros’, easing him back farther into the couch. And now his hands slide down over Eros’ stomach, fingers curling over his ribs and down under the hem of his shirt. His palms are warm on Eros’ cold sides and back—he’s always so cold.

Rian sucks in a breath when his hands brush feathers, and he pulls back, confused. “What…do you…?”

Eros blinks to clear his head. He’s kiss drunk and feeling the effects of a high, so he’s not exactly sure what Rian is asking at first. “I—what?”

“Do you have wings?” Rian wonders, his eyes going soft. A smile sits half-formed on the edge of his mouth.

Eros shifts uncomfortably. “I mean. There’s a reason that your image of Cupid has wings. So. Yeah.”

Rian’s smile finally decides that it does indeed want to form. “That’s amazing.” His hands are still splayed across Eros’ back, and when he shifts his fingers they brush through the feathers at the base of Eros’ wings. Eros can’t help the shiver that arches his back up into Rian’s chest.

“Oh,” he gasps, biting his lip. “Oh.”

And then Rian’s lips are back on his jaw, his hips rolling slowly against him. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Eros says, not even caring that it comes out as a whine. “ _Yes._ ”

Rian hums, his fingers rubbing at the muscles and the feathers on his back until Eros gasps. He hadn’t even realized that one of Rian’s hands was at the buckle of his belt. “Wait— _wait_.” Eros takes a startled breath when Rian actually does.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly. His eyes are very, very brown. He’s so beautiful that Eros aches.

Swallowing, Eros covers up his nerves with, “We’re not doing this on the couch. I don’t want to fuck up my back.”

Rian chuckles softly, his hands pulling Eros even more against him. When Rian kisses him again, Eros bites his lip, swallowing the taller man’s moan. He feels the muscles in Rian’s arms tense as he stands, taking Eros with him. “Where to?” he asks into Eros’ mouth.

Eros wraps his legs around Rian’s waist, grinding against him. He’s so _hard_. Eros makes some kind of noise and tugs Rian’s hair in the direction that they need to go. He thinks he hits his knee on the corner of a wall, but he doesn’t really care, not with the way one of Rian’s hand is on his ass, the other squeezing his thigh to hold him up. Eventually they find Eros’ bedroom, and Rian eases Eros onto his bed, not letting go of his mouth while he pulls his jacket off and then goes back to Eros’ belt buckle. Eros whines, bucking his hips up and putting a laugh in Rian’s breath. “Someone’s eager.”

“Fuck you,” Eros moans, lifting his hips when Rian tugs at the waistband of his jeans to help him slide them off.

Rian hums, thumbs pressing into the crease of hip and thigh. “I think it’s the other way around, ‘Ros.”

Eros can’t help the whine that tumbles out of his mouth. “Please.”

Rian is so warm, his hands sliding up under Eros’ shirt, scraping over his back and tugging on feathers. Eros hisses, shoving his heels and head into the mattress and his hips up. He wants Rian to pull off the rest of both of their clothes, wants him to fucking _touch him_ already. “Ri,” Eros chokes. “Please.”

“Patience,” Rian murmurs, and all of this is throwing Eros entirely off balance. It’s been so long since someone has treated him like this, taking their time and making sure they both got off on it. He...he really likes it.

Apparently, neither one of them really have the patience that Rian just insisted Eros display, because in the next moment Rian is pulling back to tug his shirt off. Eros’ breath catches watching the muscles in his abdomen bunch and unbunch, the flex of his arms as he pushes off his own jeans. He wants to lick every inch of skin and bite down on his chest and cling to his arms during scary parts of movies and—

“Do we need—?” Rian cuts off his question awkwardly, snapping Eros out of his thoughts.

“W-what?” Eros is a little disoriented and his mind isn’t exactly in the place to try and figure out what Rian is saying.

Rian bites his lip, and it’s literally the most attractive thing that Eros has ever seen in his thousands of years of living. 

Rian’s voice isn’t as sultry when he speaks next. “Condom?”

Eros lets out an amused breath. “I don’t need them if you don’t want them. Perks of being an immortal deity.”

“No that’s,” Rian leans back over Eros’ body, one hand splayed across his tummy and pressing him firm into the bed, “that’s fine by me.”

Finally, _finally_ , Rian slides off his boxers, freeing his dick from the constraints. Eros licks his lips hungrily at the sight. Gods, has he been wanting this. Not just sex in general, although that thought has been in the back of his head for several months (has it been that long already?), but with Rian. Eros has wanted him since the moment he first laid eyes on him.

“Let’s get you out of those clothes,” Rian murmurs, mouth back oh Eros’ throat. Eros leans into the touch, lifting his shoulders when Rian's hands slide his leather jacket off his shoulders and toss it to the side.

Thumbing the top button of Eros’ shirt, Rian smirks at him. He pops it open and kisses the exposed part of his chest, biting softly. When Eros hands go to Rian’s warm shoulders and pull him closer, Eros can feel the smile against his skin and Rian bites harder. Eros knows it’s hard enough to bruise; mer, even those that aren’t full-blooded, don’t fuck around when it comes to biting, and Rian certainly isn’t an exception. As he undoes each consecutive button, Rian plants a kiss over the bite he leaves on Eros’ skin, a scalding apology to the marks left by his teeth.

“You’re, uh,” Eros gasps, hands tight on Rian’s (warm, he’s so warm) shoulders, “pulling out all the stops.”

“This seems like an all the stops kind of occasion,” Rian replies, smug. Softer, he adds, “Besides, it’s been a while. Figure we should make this good, right?” A little bit of the cockiness creeps back into his voice, but Eros can’t help the pang of sadness he feels for him. From what he knows of Rian, he hasn’t had much luck in the romance department—much of it having to do with his being half mer.

But all Eros says is, “Right,” and lets Rian undo more buttons.

The breath that Rian sucks in when he pushes his shirt open starts nerves coiling in Eros’ stomach. When he feels Rian’s soft touch on his stomach, the nerves spoil into dread. _I should have said something._ “I know it looks bad, looks ugly, but it really used to look so much worse so really this isn’t bad at all and—”

“Ros,” Rian says softly, fingers still pressed lightly to the scar tissue slashing across his stomach. He bends over to press his lips to the old bullet wound just above Eros’ heart. He’s so wounded, so broken. “It’s okay. You’re not ugly—it’s not ugly.”

Eros can feel the way his ever-shaky hands are trembling even more than usual. “Please kiss me again.”

Rian complies, and when Eros threads one of his hands up through the short hair at the nape of his neck and hauls him ever closer he can feel the smile in Rian’s kiss. Eros hums when Rian bites his lip, then whines when he pulls away again—and shivers when Rian’s fingers slip under the waistband of his underwear and pull. Rian’s eyes meet Eros’ gaze, a question in his expression, and Eros takes a breath and pushes Rian’s hands to help him. He really does appreciate all the asking, but Eros just wants to be _fucked_ already.

Without warning, as soon as Eros’ boxers disappear, Rian’s hand is on his dick, stroking lightly and thumbing the tip. Eros chokes on some sort of word in some sort of language and then Rian’s mouth is back on his chest, free hand pushing his shirt from his shoulders, tugging it all the way off. It’s sudden and almost enough for Eros to forget about—

“Wait—stop—” Eros bites down on his words, hard, hating them, and slides away out of Rian’s grasp, hand outstretched, groping. His moves are jerky and frantic, kept close to his body by the way he refuses to extend his arms and expose his elbows. His arms—he can’t—

Rian sits back, confused and worried-looking. “I—I’m sorry if I—are you okay?”

Eros rolls to his side, hand shaking as it finally grasps his jacket, still hanging on the edge of the bed. He can feel his wings flutter slightly in distress, and he pulls them tighter against his back. Now isn’t the time.

“Eros?” Rian’s voice is soft.

Eros shakes his head and slides his jacket back on, movements jerky. “Sorry,” he says softly, head fuzzy. Gods, he’s so fucking stupid. The scars splayed across his torso were bad enough but he fucking forgot about—

“You don’t have to apologize,” Rian says. “I should be the one saying sorry. I—I can go if you want me—”

“Don’t go,” Eros interrupts. “Please. I just.” He bites the corner of his lip, hard, trying to think straight. “I promise I want this, I just—my jacket—” He makes a helpless noise.

Rian just looks at him a moment, hands resting on his thighs. Finally, he asks, “Is it your wings?”

“...What?”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Rian goes on. “They’re beautiful.”

Eros presses his lips and eyes closed. “I don’t...the jacket stays on.”

“That’s fine,” Rian says reassuringly. “Whatever you want.”

Eros opens his eyes again and sits up. He reaches out and grasps Rian’s hand, pulling it to him and kissing the inside of his wrist. “I want you,” he says truthfully, his whole body aching with it.

“I want you too,” Rian replies, following the pull of Eros’ hand and pressing him back down into bed. “Just tell me if anything isn’t okay.” He smiles a bit. “Jack would kill me if I did anything wrong.”

Eros groans and rolls his eyes. “Please don’t talk about Jack right now.”

He’s surprised to find Rian’s mouth suddenly back on his, although not unpleasantly so. “Sure thing, angel,” Rian murmurs. “It’s just you and me.”

Eros hums appreciatively, letting his legs fall open. He can feel Rian’s legs against his inner thighs and he hums appreciatively, lifting his hips up until their cocks rub together and they both moan into each others’ mouths. Eros feels Rian’s hand on his chest, on his hip, tracing up the inside of his thigh. “Lube?” he asks, mouth back on Eros’s collar.

“Oh, shit, yeah. It’s, uh, it’s in the bathroom—I’ll get it—” Disappearing from his place on the bed and appearing in the bathroom, Eros snickers to himself as he hears Rian’s “what the fuck—” and the accompanying _oof_ that means he’s collapsed into the empty space where Eros was a split second before. Eros snags the tube of lube and pops back into bed next to Rian, grinning innocently. “What, did you forget I can teleport?”

“No,” Rian grumbles good-naturedly.

“No I think you did. How do you think I got to Chili’s then, hm?” Eros scoots teasingly out of Rian’s reach, sticking his tongue out.

“I dunno,” Rian says, faux contemplative. He reaches out and pulls Eros closer by the hips again. “Taxi?” He smiles, so pretty that Eros can’t breathe. His eyes, gods, his _eyes_. They’re endlessly deep and dark.

Rian uncaps the lube and wiggles his coated fingers at Eros, teasing. Eros grins until Rian gets down to the dirty, hand slipping behind his balls and pressing against his ass. Eros sucks in a breath as Rian pushes in a finger, his other hand splayed across Eros’ stomach and holding him down.

“Ri—” Eros says, but he’s quickly choked off as Rian curls his finger up, expertly grazing his prostate almost instantly. “Oh, _fuck._ ”

“You like that?” Rian murmurs.

“Yes, yes I do,” Eros chokes, trying to shove his hips down on Rian’s finger, but the other man holds him back with a firm grip.

Rian takes his time, fingering Eros slow, pushing extra fingers in and pulling them back out, until he’s a whiny mess.

“You really know—” Eros pants “—how to take your time—but it’s fine—I don’t have anywhere to be—not like I was looking to get laid—or anythinfggfhhh…” his last words wheeze out uncertainly when he feels Rian’s thumb pressing into the hollow between his collar bones, not really putting enough pressure to do anything other than make sure Eros knows what he’s doing.

Rian’s fingers curl against Eros’ neck, his pointer finger rubbing softy just under Eros’ ear. “Do you think you can be quiet for me?” he asks. His voice is quiet, but the words aren’t soft. He pushes his fingers farther into Eros’ ass to make a point, and Eros chokes from the unexpected pressure.

“Ri—”

“Shhh,” Rian shushes. His fingers tighten experimentally on Eros’ neck. Eros swallows, vulnerable.

Rian dips his head close, mouth nearly on Eros’ ear. “Do you think you can be quiet for me?” he repeats, husky.

If it had been anyone else, Eros is sure that he would have batted their hand away and snapped at them to just fuck him already, or even demanded they leave. But all he does is nod minutely, eyes wide, hips straining against Rian’s hand. He’s so fucking turned on and he wants to be fucked dear _gods_.

But Rian isn’t about to do that any time soon, not if the fingers in Eros’ ass are any indication, or the way Rian has his hand on his sternum, holding him down, down, down, grounded. All of Eros’ being feels centered in his chest, compressed down to the point of contact between Rian’s hand and his skin.

Rian’s hand slides farther down his ribs, pads of his fingers pressing down on the soft skin of Eros’ tummy, thumb swiping across his hip. Eros doesn’t know what Rian is doi—and then there’s a mouth on his dick and he’s crying out, trying to buck up, to react, but Rian’s got him pinned. Eros can see the way the muscles in his arm tense as he pushes him down.

When Rian shifts so that he can see Eros, flicking his sight up to maintain eye contact with him, Eros cries out, loud, louder than he had meant to. Rian’s tongue slides up the underside of his cock, cheeks hollow, to swirl over the tip. He bobs his head down, the obscene sucking noises going straight to Eros’ head. He actually feels the most clear-headed he has all evening.

“Gods—Jesus _fuck_ , Ri—” Eros gasps. Rian’s fingers had been still until now and he was so excellent at giving head that he’d almost forgotten they were still up his ass.

Without warning, and much to Eros’ disappointment, Rian pulls off, smirking. “What did I tell you?”

Eros blinks, hazy. “What?”

Before he can say anything else, Rian’s hand is back, high on his neck, pressing up into the underside of his jaw, squeezing until Eros chokes on his words. Rian kisses his chest and looks at him with serious eyes. “Okay?”

Eros is having a hard time focusing on what he’s saying, too distracted staring at the slick redness of Rian's lips and the way his cock is throbbing painfully.

“Eros.”

He should say no. This feels...humiliating and vulnerable and he shouldn’t like this as much as he does. He’s never let anyone do this to him before, not willing to be taken control of like this. But he _does_ like it, and he likes Rian, and trusts him, so he gasps, “Yes,” between shallow breaths and Rian smiles.

“Good.” He nudges Eros’ thighs apart and Eros let’s him, opening his legs for him and whining weakly against the hand on his throat.

Eros tries to moan Rian’s name, but all that comes out it a soft rasp that is quickly replaced by him choking as he feels Rian’s dick at his entrance, pushing slowly. Eros wants to clench down on him but forces himself to relax. His legs seem to move of their own accord, wrapping tight around Rian’s waist and pulling him close, faster than Rian probably would have moved on his own. Rian moves with him, bottoming out and body flush against the smaller man beneath him.

Rian’s mouth is on his jaw, and he’s in him and around him, warmth of his body all over Eros and bleeding through his jacket. Eros whimpers lightly and Rian’s hand tightens reflexively on his throat, until he chokes. To Eros’ surprise, he finds himself pressing his neck up into his hand, needing more, needing Rian. He’s the only thing that feels real anymore, like the rest of the world has melted away and it’s just Rian’s dick in his ass and Rian’s hand on his throat.

Eros breathes heavily out of his nose, eyes wide and meeting Rian’s for a long, pregnant second. Rian takes a breath and pulls back, then starts to thrust hard and deep and sure into Eros’ body. Eros lifts his hips up to meet him, pinned down now only by the pressure on his neck.

Sloppily, Rian kisses Eros, more pulling on his bottom lip than anything. Eros can’t see the muscles in Rian’s back, but he can imagine the way they move. He can hear it in Rian’s breaths and feel it in the tense way Rian’s body slides along his. Eros doesn’t even need to have his eyes open to know that Rian is beautiful, but it definitely helps. The view he has of Rian’s shoulder is lovely; he can see his own hand curling around his back to dig into the skin there, his nails biting down with his reluctance to let go.

Eros can feel the orgasm building in his groin, and his legs tighten reflexively around Rian’s waist. “Ri,” he says. Or tries to say. It’s more of a wheeze than anything, but Rian still meets his eyes—Eros has never seen eyes like his in his life, so brown and wide and innocent and dirty at the same time and Eros never wants to stop looking at them—and fits an opened-mouthed kiss to his jaw.

Rian dips his head to lick at the back edge of Eros’ jaw. “Come for me,” he whispers, a growl. “For me.”

 _For you_ , Eros would say if he was able to speak. As it is, he’s light-headed from lack of air and so severely turned on he feels like he’s going to explode.

Rian thrusts deep and Eros makes a whimpering noise before he comes all over his stomach. Something very, _very_ deep in the very, _very_ back of his mind whispers a concerned thought for his jacket, but that’s the last thing he’s bothered with at the moment. He’s more worried about the intensely fantastic orgasm he just had, the way he can feel the aftereffects of it rippling through his entire body—and the way that Rian hardly even pauses before continuing to fuck into his sensitive hole.

The grip on Eros’ neck loosens, but he can’t speak. His brain is whited out and staticky, a television with no signal except overload. Rian’s mouth is back on his skin, nudging the collar of his jacket over, biting down over the little heart tattoos on the top of Eros’ shoulder.

It’s maybe a minute more of Rian fucking him, Eros letting out little ‘ah’s and soft whimpers, his nail scratching Rian’s back, before he feels Rian’s hips stutter and his thrusts become shallow and less frequent. Rian makes as if to pull out but Eros whines and only pulls him closer with his legs. He likes the thought of Rian coming on his chest or stomach, sure, but he likes the idea of him climaxing inside him better, filling him and marking him as _his_.

Eros shoves down his thoughts before they go too far, not wanting to think of the implications of wanting to be _Rian’s_ while he’s in the middle of excellent sex.

“No,” Eros rasps. “Stay—closer—more— _you_.” He pulls his arms back from where they’re wrapped around Rian’s torso to pull his face back to his. One hand is on Rian’s jaw, the other flicking at the edge of his gills, leaving Rian gasping. He kisses Eros, and it’s scalding, a class of teeth and too much tongue. It’s perfect.

After a moment, Rian grinds his hips forward and breaks their kiss to press his forehead into the side of Eros’ neck. Eros can feel him come, can feel the way it fills him up. He pulls him even closer, wanting to climb inside Rian—maybe have Rian climb inside of him. All he knows is that in this moment, he doesn’t want either of them to move.

He revels in the way Rian relaxes against his chest, a slow collapse. Lips on his neck, hands sliding between his jacket and skin to run his fingers up through his feathers again. Eros shudders. His legs are still hooked around Rian’s, and he shifts, wanting him _closer_.

Much to Eros’ dismay, Rian eventually rolls off of him, pulling out and laying on his back. He lays one hand across his chest, and Eros watches it rise and fall out of the corner of his eye. He’s stunning. Beautiful. He wants to watch him through his nightly insomnia and never stop. He wants Rian to kiss his scars and tell him he’s beautiful and hold him at night and—Eros bites his tongue to stop his train of thought. He’s just here for the sex. They both are. The friendship is an added bonus.

Rian turns his head to catch Eros’ eye. “Not bad, short stuff.”

Eros just stares back, blissed out and throat sore and feeling high. He hardly even registers that Rian curls back up next to him, hand on his chest. They’re quiet for long minutes. Eros just listens to Rian’s breathing even out. Neither one of them is willing to move. Eros finds himself replaying the whole night in his head. It’s not until they’ve both been quiet for nearly ten minutes that he—

“Hey, I’m not—I’m not _that_ short.”

Rian laughs, tired and pure and happy. “You’re like five foot two, ‘Ros.”

Eros huffs. “And?”

“Nothing.” Rian’s smile is soft, a little fuzzy around the edges. “Should we get cleaned up?”

“Don’ wanna move,” Eros mumbles, and he reaches out for Rian, refusing to be embarrassed for the clingy way he gets post-sex.

Rian takes it all in stride, much unlike the lovers and one-night-stands he’s had in the past. They all ‘got too hot’ or ‘weren’t cuddlers’ or only did it to appease Eros. But Rian reaches for him too, wrapping him into his arms and not even caring that Eros has drying come on his stomach. “If you’re sure, angel.”

Eros smiles into Rian’s chest at the pet name. His heart aches with something familiar and warm that he refuses to put a name to. _Sex, it’s just sex_ , he tells himself. He’s had sex plenty of times with plenty of people. _It’s just. Sex_. It’s not. It’s Rian.

In lieu of thinking about it, Eros just pulls Rian closer. The fact that he’s going to spend the night hangs unspoken between them. It’s not the only thing that does.


End file.
